A Twist of Fate
by cluingforlooks
Summary: When a beloved companion dies, the Doctor can't come to terms with himself, driven mad with anger and guilt.
1. Perhaps

"It's my fault."

This was the only phrase going through the Doctor's mind.

That beautiful, impossible girl would have been fine, would have lived a long, happy life, if he hadn't've burst in and muddled everything up.

He couldn't do anything right.

And now, all of the fish custard in the world couldn't cheer him up.

He was empty, empty as a rain gauge in a drought, but somehow, simultaneously, about to explode with the emotion of it all- the sadness, the anger, but, most of all, the guilt.

The Doctor couldn't stand even to look at himself. He didn't care about anyone, about anything anymore.

Why couldn't everything just...

"STOP!" he suddenly yelled to the empty TARDIS. "Stop, stop, stop!" He threw his sonic across the room, where it hit a mirror, which shattered on contact with the buzzing device. The screwdriver snapped down the middle into two identical pieces. _Seven years' bad luck, _he thought.

Perhaps, he thought, he was too old for this.

Perhaps there was only one way to stop it.


	2. Regeneration

In the old society of Gallifrey, a forced regeneration was not illegal, but it was treated with utter distaste.

A regeneration, the life of a time lord, was the single most valuable thing in the known universe. To waste that, to throw it away, was, to some, the ultimate crime.

Too bad they were all dead now.

The Doctor closed his eyes and flicked the switch. Instantly, a thick, foggy gas permeated into the air of the control room. A maniacal smile etched across his face, he sank to the floor.

However, this peace was temporary. Just a few minutes later, the Doctor was jerked awake and barely had the time to get to his feet before his hands began to glow. As if a swarm of fireflies had flew into the room, it was lit with a hazy light. His head jerked back, and, suddenly, he was new.

Slowly, painstakingly, the Doctor pulled himself to his feet. "Old. I'm older now." _That's the trouble of regeneration, _he thought to himself. _It's a bit of a gamble. _He laughed dryly.

_Now, where have we landed this time? _

He pushed open the door just a crack, to a place he barely recognized.


	3. Tragedy

It was in London, that much he knew for sure; the street stirred something in his memory.

_It was where they had first met_. He vaguely recalled two young children, a cyberman, an emperor. And, of course, _her. _A yell of anger burst forth from him, causing several passers-by to turn in his direction. Irked by them, the Doctor slammed the door shut.

A throbbing headache was rising from the center of his skull. The screaming just outside the TARDIS walls didn't help, either.

_No, _he thought. _I'm done helping them. _The noise continued.

"FINE!" he accidentally yelled out loud. He threw the doors open.

A short, stocky figure, obviously a Sontaran, was standing face-to-face with a young human boy. _Artie! _he suddenly realised.

"What're you wearing that funny costume for?" Artie laughed at the masked creature.

"This is not a funny costume! Your worthless human form could never know the glory of Sontaran battle armor!" The clone was quite obviously rather miffed.

"Oh-okay?"

"Do not 'okay' me! I am far superior to you in every respect!"

The Doctor, with carefully-measured step, approached the Sontaran. "Calm down," he said, admiring his new voice. "This boy has done nothing wrong by the laws of your planet. You have no reason to harm him."

"He has insulted my honor! He must be destroyed!"

"By order of the Shadow Proclamation-" The Doctor was cut off mid-sentence by the shooting of a ray gun just to his left. Where the young boy had stood mere moments before now lay a heap of ash and a distinct scent of not-carnations. Tears welled up in his eyes- tears of anger.


	4. Chameleon

Overcome with emotion, the Doctor dashed into the TARDIS, scouring the ground for his sonic screwdriver. It lay among the shattered glass of a broken mirror, split neatly down the middle into two unusable bits. He cried out, a primal scream of anger and frustration. "I CAN'T DO THIS! I can't... I can't do this any longer." He collapsed to the ground, his body shaking with silent tears.

A shiny brown button on the TARDIS that had only been pressed once before suddenly caught the Doctor's eye. _I couldn't... but I _could_! _A gleam returned to his eye, albeit a rather rabid one.

He pressed the button.

A silver metal headset with a circular indentation about the size of a half-dollar descended from the ceiling. Tentatively, the Doctor stepped under its cold embrace as it closed around his head. From his jacket pocket, he drew a fob watch inscribed with writing in the ancient language of Gallifrey and pressed it into the slot. Instantaneously, a light seemed to funnel out of the Doctor's body and into the timepiece.

The TARDIS was rocking about with the flowing of the light; so much, in fact, that one half of the Doctor's sonic flew across the room and hit a lever on the center console. The spinning and rocking intensified tenfold. The machine was rocketing through the vortex at and alarming rate, further and further throughout all of human civilization. It went farther and farther still, until it came to a stop in the very, very distant future. The doors flew open, and the Doctor, fob watch in hand, was forcefully thrown out of the TARDIS. As soon as he had passed the threshold, the doors snapped closed once again, and the unstable machine materialized.


End file.
